How to Lose a Socialite in 10 Days
by mr-random-guy
Summary: Rory is challenged to write an article that covers her exploits in 'losing a guy in 10 days' but her plans don't exactly work out with one specific socialite. RoryLogan.
1. Writing for Marie Claire and Mussolini

A/N: Ahoy all! I'm back (again). I know I've been out of the picture a while but quite a bit of stuff was going on back there and I had to do a bit of this and that to figure out what was going on with this and that and… I'm rambling about completely pointless things! Anyway, here's another piece I thought you all might like. I'll try and hop to it and finish off "Pride and True" as well, so don't get your knickers in a knot:D Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Warner-Brothers or Paramount Pictures, nor am I lucky enough to have anything to do with the 'Gilmore Girls' television production or for that matter, Michele Alexander's screen adaptation of 'How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days'. This 'FanFic' is written entirely for the purposes of fun and any references to copyrighted material remains the property of such materials' respective owners. That doesn't entirely sound right… but you get my drift. I wrote the story, but own nothing.

Notes: This is an 'alternate reality' fic; things are mostly the same, especially histories of the characters and whatnot, the only thing I'm changing is the storyline from around the point of '5x03 – Written in the Stars' when Logan is introduced. This is kind of a meshing of ideas, but don't worry, I'll try and be as true to the 'Gilmore Girls' show as possible!

"How to Lose a Socialite in 10 Days"

I – Writing for Marie Claire

Rory Gilmore sat behind her quaint little desk in the offices of the 'Yale Daily News'. This was the kind of place that had only once existed in her dreams. Finally, she thought, her successes had paid off. All her hard work throughout high school and now, to some extent, university, she was being recognized as worthy enough to present 'the people' with their daily dose of journalism in tabloid form.

She smiled drumming a pen between her thumb and forefinger; watching mindlessly as it see-sawed back and forth, back and forth, back a-

"GILMORE!"

Rory flinched awkwardly at their call of her family name, tossing her pen high in the air. The tubular writing piece somersaulted gracefully upward and then down toward the ground in the same manner, clocking Doyle, the Yale Daily News' editor, firmly upon the head.

Doyle grimaced as the pen connected with the crown of his head, "Gilmore… see at a REAL newspaper we don't have time for gam-"

"I didn't do that on purpose!" Rory recoiled, fearing a lecture from Doyle more than anything.

Doyle rubbed his skull, "I don't care what you were doing just get back to work!" he screamed, drawing the attention of some of the other members of the newspaper.

"I'm real- really sorry," Rory stammered, "I was just-"

Doyle raised a clamped hand to his face, "ooo she was just fooling around Doyle," he mocked, using his hand as a false puppet.

"No, I was just thinking of a way to make this review more- more palatable," Rory lied, rocking forward slightly to cover up her _lack_ of work.

"Oh Mr. Hand!" Doyle giggled imprudently, "she's just cleaning up her work".

Rory pursed her lips, wishing someone would gain Doyle's attention.

"Noooo!" Doyle's hand continued in an annoying, whiney voice, "she was clearly fooling about… haven't you seen her last piece of work… boy was THAT pathetic".

Rory considered _accidentally_ tossing another pen in the air, except, instead of a pen, she felt a stapler or some equally metallic office item would be more suitable.

"Oh come now, Mr. Hand," Doyle continued, "let's give her one more chance".

"_One_ more chance?" Rory murmured, hesitantly.

"That's right, Gilmore," Doyle smiled, dagger's in his voice, "your last excuse for work caused a backlash in sales".

"Doyle!" Rory shot angrily, "this newspaper is _FREE_!"

"Oh I know that," he retorted, "will you stop telling me things I already know?"

"What are you _talking about_?" Rory snapped, narrowing her eyes.

"Mr. Hand, we don't like being spoken to that way, do we?" Doyle questioned his hand, pouting his lips all the while.

Rory wondered just how _hard_ her pen had impacted upon Doyle's head.

"No we certainly do not!" Doyle's hand replied happily.

"Why have I got _one_ more chance, Doyle?" Rory pushed, hoping some sanity remained within his head.

"Frankly Gilmore," Doyle began, "the Yale Daily News has kind of… hit a slump, so to speak".

Rory sighed and sat back, preparing herself for a long winded Doyle-lecture.

"We've hit a slump and we need something fresh to help us… break into a new, wider audience," Doyle continued, raising his hand to his chin, "now, as ingenious as I am," Rory rolled her eyes and folded her arms, "I have decided to cut your review section and substitute it with a more… palatable –as you put so well–" he gestured to Rory, "and entertaining piece of writing".

Rory gazed dejectedly up at Doyle, "I'm 'fired'?"

"No," Doyle answered, smiling evilly, "but you will be if you don't get this next assignment right".

She glared at him for a moment, before accepting her fate, "what do I have to do?"

"I want you to write an article- no, an expose!"

Rory's demeanor perked up. Perhaps this was a move for the better. Her days reviewing the same generic performances from the Drama Club were ones she had decided would not be spoken of, once she had established herself as a well-respected journalist.

"I want you to write an expose on human social interaction – the kind of interaction between a guy and a girl from the start to the end, of a relationship!" Doyle spieled, "your angle will be … ummm, you'll meet this guy, coax him into a relationship and then- then-"

Rory stared blankly, "then what?"

"Then you'll try and lose him! The catch is you can't dump him. He's got to dump you," Doyle concluded, wide-eyed and proud.

"You want me to find a guy, partner with him and then- then get him to dump me?" Rory spluttered.

"It's so brilliant; I can't believe I didn't think of it before!" Doyle shouted, raising his hands in the air and shaking his head, "God I'm good!"

Rory was entirely opposed to the idea. Deceit was something she was not fond of, even if it meant keeping her position, "Doyle this is nuts".

"It might be!" Doyle smiled, "but if you don't do it, then you can pack up and leave Gilmore, I don't care!"

Rory shook her head, "Doyle this is- it's so-" she scanned her brain for a convincing argument, "it's so… _Cosmo_," she could not believe that she was now entrusting the future of her possible career to a magazine.

"Cosmo-" Doyle snapped, "is exactly the approach we want from this piece. It's got to be in-your-face and trendy while still remaining a 'social experiment' and credible".

"Doyle, surely- there must be something else I can cover- I'll- I'll do the Religion beat! I can go to all the meetings and- and uncover the secrets of- of-" her voice trailed.

"How very Joan Lunden of you…"

Rory smiled in fake-sincerity.

"Clean your desk out Gilmore," Doyle chided, turning and walking away.

"Wait!" Rory squealed, jumping up from her desk, "I'll do it! I'll do it!"

Doyle turned and smiled evilly again, "I knew you'd come around!" he clapped his hands together, "now hop to it… you have _ten days_ to have that article on my desk".

"_Ten DAYS_!" Rory shouted, "I can't do what you're asking for in TEN DAYS!" she debated, knowing that she was going to have more trouble completing the task as opposed to racing the clock too, which would serve to only worsen the scenario.

"You're right," Doyle replied. Rory slumped, feeling the pressure ease slightly, "make it FIVE DAYS!"

"Nooo!" Rory spat, eyes widening, "ten it is Doyle, TEN".

Doyle smiled and nodded mockingly, "ten it is," and turned away from Rory, to abuse another member of the paper, "you call THIS black ink…" he screamed.

Rory sank back into her chair, resting her arms on the chair's arms.

"Mussolini's got you cornered," a familiar voice floated.

"I'm aware of the situation Paris," Rory recoiled, gathering her notebooks from her desk.

Paris Gellar, the girl of a short-stature that had befriended Rory in high-school sat behind her own desk at the Yale Daily News. Their 'friendship' was odd; founded on a dependability to be indifferent and at the same time, strengthened by a powerful bond.

"He's so self-righteous, so violently smothered with his position… I'd be pretty smug too if I were 'editor'," Paris smoldered.

"Don't get too bent out of shape," Rory replied quietly, packing her bag, "I'm going to need your help with this".

"You've got to be joking," Paris giggled-wickedly, "sorry Gilmore, you're on your own with this one".

"Oh come on Paris!" Rory pleaded, "I don't even know how I'm going to start this!"

"Alright!" Paris soothed, "we'll figure something out when we get home tonight- ugh!" she paused, focusing her attention on a small boy, "here comes our beloved Dictator," she nodded to Doyle, who was advancing toward the pair.

"I'm getting right to it Doyle," Rory whined, shoving the last of her books into her book-bag.

"Just hurry up Gilmore, the clock's ticking- besides I came here to see Paris," he urged, waving with disregard at Rory, "Paris, I was wondering…"

Rory rolled her eyes and strode off; she could not longer bare to hear Doyle, let alone be in the same room with him. She headed for the door and away from the bustling whirlwind of the Yale Daily News offices. She grasped the doorknob and pushed outward to hear a sickening thud and a fit of cursing.

She rushed out the door and gazed at a recognizable young boy clutching his forehead, "Oh my God!" she mumbled, dropping her bag and moving closer, "I'm- I-"

"You're sorry, right?" the boy muttered, rubbing his aching head.

"I'm really very sorry!" Rory spluttered.

The boy sat on a bench and hunched over, a dreadfully pained sound was droning from him.

"I- look I'm really sorry… can I get you some-"

Then there was laughing. Lots of laughing.

"Geez Ace…" the boy rose to his feet, smiling, "your Master and Commander got you again… with the ol' slappin' the door trick. You're easier than I thought!"

Rory went a shade of crimson that would have made Harvard proud.

A small group of boys emerged from various, well-selected positions, each laughing and slapping each other on the back.

"Gentlemen, I believe it's time we _hit_ lunch," the boy who had called her 'Ace' joked, causing the group of boys to reach near-hysterics.

Rory knelt down and gathered up her bag, still very much shocked by the prank.

The group of raucous boys made their way down the hall, fortunately in the opposite direction Rory needed to go.

As she began to slowly shake off the embarrassment of the moment, an idea floated her way. She spun around, facing the group once more, to see the one particular boy glancing back at her.

"Master and Commander," she murmured, "you have just met the _match_ of your dreams".

A/N: Right, so what does everyone think? Does this one deliver the goods? Let me know what you think and I'll try and get another chapter up tomorrow :) Cheers all!


	2. ‘This table is for high rollers only, si

A/N: So, as requested, here's the next chapter. I'm glad that everyone is pleased with the way things are going. I was a bit hesitant to go on with the idea. Nevertheless, let me know what you all think of this one :)

"How to Lose a Socialite in 10 Days"

II – 'This table is for high rollers only, sir'

Logan Huntzberger, son of a multi-millionaire, heir to his family's fortune and media conglomerate was all one would expect from the successor to a veritable playboy empire – although he did not show it. Logan was definitely the playboy, however, and assumed the role without indignation – rather, he enjoyed being the bane of so many; it was all a just a game anyway.

"…so I says, 'no thank _you_ Miss Marple, but I'll be happy to show you around my bedroom'!" a voice cracked and the group surrounding young Logan erupted into laughter.

"Oh Finn, when will you learn? You can only ask a girl to see the boudoir on the _third_ date – minimum. You're coming on way too fast otherwise," one boy corrected.

"My dear Colin, I believe we have established Miss Marple to be somewhere in her late forties. If I hang in for the third, she may be dead!" recoiled Finn and again the group spluttered into fits of chuckling.

"Yes but letting her snoop around in your bedroom is probably unwise – she _is_ a private eye, right?" Colin persisted, the group now settling somewhat.

"Indeed, she is… but what have I got to hide?" Finn rejoined, smiling proudly.

"Remember our trip to the Bahamas?" Logan asked, smiling at Finn, "weren't you the one with the-"

"Alright!" Finn snapped, "We don't need to bring up that little surprise… besides, won't I be kicking myself if I don't show her what's in my pa-?"

"Finn, FINN! Let's leave some surprises for the ladies… and keep those surprises from ever surprising me," Logan interrupted, half-jokingly, half-seriously.

Finn looked slightly taken aback, "oh come on Huntzberger! You've been there plenty of times. Just to get a lass in the ol' sack," he nodded.

"Yes and no – when did this become the Spanish Inquisition?" Logan replied, smiling.

"Oh it isn't mate. I'm just trying to gauge how it's done by a _professional_ of sorts," Finn returned, folding his arms all the while, "I mean it's about time we got in on the Huntzberger technique".

"There's nothing to it," Logan answered, smiling around the table at the faces intently listening to him, "all you gotta do is know when it's over and be ready for it".

"So you're saying it's all worked out on when you want to call it quits?" Colin asked, leaning forward slightly.

"No," Logan chuckled, "that'd be far too easy. I let _them_ make the decision".

"You get them to give you the ol' heave ho?" Finn spluttered, wide-eyed, "I'd never have believed it if I didn't hear it from the man, himself!" he confessed. A nodding of agreement went around the group like a Mexican wave.

"It's simple. I pick them out, lock them in, have a grand ol' time and then, when the time is right, set them free back into the wild," Logan smiled, making gestures of birds with his hands, "it's one of my greater schemes".

The group laughed, "care to put a wager on that?"

Logan looked up at Colin, "a wagering of just how much?"

"Oh… let's make it worth your while and say _ten_," Colin offered.

"Blimey," Finn interjected, "ten is a fair bit".

"Alright, ten it is," Logan agreed, shaking hands with each member of the group, "wait… how about double or nothing?"

Colin looked over at Finn and then at Logan, "double or nothing?"

"Yeah, let's make this truly interesting… give me ten days and I'll find your girl, make something of it and in time, she'll have dropped me like the L.A. Times!" Logan suggested, smiling happily all the while.

The group chuckled, "you've got your double or nothing Huntzberger!" Finn cried.

"Of course, you are aware of what's at stake here, aren't you?" Colin questioned, looking seriously at Logan.

"I'm aware that you guys are going to need to come up with twenty in ten days…" Logan smirked. The group laughed again.

"You just worry about the girl and I'll have your cheque signed and ready for the cashing," Finn professed, "of course, there'll have to be some rules…"

"Yes, of course," Logan agreed, "to what am I bound to?"

"She has to dump you," exclaimed one member of the group.

"There has to be at least three dates to prove you and your missus have got something going," Finn added.

"She's got to be a Yaley," another member contributed.

"You've got ten days and the clock is ticking…" Colin concluded, "and that'll be all that's stopping you".

"Then it's settled gentlemen," Logan smiled, "you're all about to be witness to the great and ever so infamous Huntzberger technique… just be prepared to have your wallets feel that much lighter soon!" The group chuckled amongst themselves.

"But we'll just win it all back at the poker game!" Finn teased and the group roared into a fit of laughter again.

"Oh '_ha ha_'," Logan rebuked, "my poker exploits have nothing to do with this".

"With a money back guarantee like this, how can I lose?" Finn laughed, "_cash in hand_; _money in the bank_!"

Logan rolled his eyes, "well, if this lunch is over, I believe I best get started on collecting my winnings".

The group applauded Logan as he bowed gracefully, "thank you gentlemen for your time and for being so gullible".

"Oh it's no problem," Finn added, "I love it when my investments mature".

"But this investment is _im_mature," Colin mocked and the group laughed again.

"Just don't let your cheque signing hand get too cold," Logan retorted, smiling in his trademark way.

Somebody's watch beeped.

"I suppose it is that time again," Colin resigned, rising from his chair.

"Class _already_?" Finn whined.

"We _are_ supposed to be getting an education," Colin said pointedly.

There was a silence and a pause as the group exchanged glances. Then more hysterical laughing.

"Oh that's _rich_," Finn replied, wiping his sleeve across his eyes.

Logan greeted the group and shook hands with his close friends, departing the table and the great dining hall of Yale. Intermittently, he could pick up some conversation from the people around him. Logan considered himself highly astute and perceptive. His mind was not on the class he was going to, in fact, he had no intention of attending such a class at all – his mission was ultimately very clear; he had to find his date.

"…and Professor Asher Fleming… my word! Doesn't that show you what smoking can do?" one girl spoke. Logan brushed past the table, appearing concerned with where he was going but in actuality, listened intently for an interjection into a conversation.

"…these mash potatoes are sooo creamy!" another girl squealed. Clearly, the playing field in the Yale dining hall was not as diverse and easily pounced on, as he was used to.

"…ugh that's nothing- I've got a report on Socialism due in three hours and I haven't even read the compulsory material!" yet another girl stated proudly.

Logan quietly scanned the room, ignoring now, any sort of conversation and decided to try 'Plan B', attacking the lone prey.

Most girls where crowded together in small groups, which Logan was entirely unafraid of but he needed a reason to make an appearance with most of them. It was useless walking up to a group of girls at Yale, despite _who_ you were, if you had nothing important to join the conversation with.

And then he spotted her.

Sitting alone, ever so quietly at a window, in the light of the midday sun, at a table for two. It was almost as if God had presented him with deliverance.

He rushed over, not too quickly that he was noticeable, but hurriedly enough that he'd get there in time.

She couldn't see him. Her back was faced to him. Her head and shoulders slouched over what appeared to be a textbook, a cardboard coffee cup, steaming somewhat, sat on the table before her. Her long brown hair draped comfortably atop her head.

Logan shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled in his trademark way. Sorry, he thought, you've just made me twenty-thousand dollars richer and you'll never know.

"Excuse me," he asked politely, "I was wondering if you could tell me where to get the best coffee around here".

The girl looked up at him dejectedly, "uhhh there's a dozen coffee carts on campus… there'll the same… just pick one," she answered, before lowering her head back down to her reading.

"Well, I was asking for your opinion," Logan persisted, considerably annoyed by the girl's response.

She looked up once more, "coffee is coffee… I'm busy".

"Busy doing, _what_?" Logan asked smartly.

The girl cocked her head slightly, "I've got lots of work to do and an article to write… which is more than I can say for you… just buy a cup of freakin' coffee and get on with your life".

"That's no way to ask me out," Logan replied, smiling in his trademark way.

"Listen Huntzberger… I've heard about you! I know who you are and just because your family is important and- and… I know you!" the girl recoiled sharply.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you… however, I'm glad my reputation precedes me," Logan professed, extending a warm hand to the girl.

Momentarily, she seemed to be mulling over continuing the conversation before she placed her hand in his and shook, "Paris Gellar, pleased to meet you".

"The pleasure," Logan replied, "is all mine," and he sat in the empty seat before her.

* * *

Just having entered the dining hall, Rory Gilmore spied Paris and Logan seated together, talking, it appeared, quite happily with one another.

"This is not what I meant by 'helping me' Paris," she whispered aloud.

A curly haired boy seated next to Rory raised an eyebrow.

Rory blushed and shrugged her shoulders before resuming her attention upon Logan and Paris.

A/N: Yeah, I know it's not exactly 'heating up' at the moment but these early chapters are just to establish the story. Don't worry; it's going to get very dicey in the near future! I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as possible (read: hopefully tomorrow). So yeah, just let me know what you think.


	3. Get a hold of yourself, Gilmore'

A/N: Where does the time go? Oh well. Better late than never, right? No? Okay… here's the next chapter. Hope it's up to scratch ;)

"How to Lose a Socialite in 10 Days"

III – "Get a hold of yourself, Gilmore!"

This was entirely not what she wanted. Not in the least. Why do things have a way of working out the way they always seem to? She had a plan! She had _things_! She had-

"Nothing," she murmured aloud, convincing herself.

Perhaps it was the way things were _meant_ to be, she pondered.

"Get a _hold_ of yourself, Gilmore!" she spluttered, "this has nothing to do with fate… or _supposed to's_ or _should be's_".

She knew what she had to do.

Rory sat up from lying on her bed and fumbled through a small mess on her dresser. Slightly irritated by her lack of cleanliness, she rummaged some more until she recognized the small, plastic silver object she was hunting – her cell-phone.

She dialed a familiar sequence of numbers that flashed and pinged as her fingers danced around the small keypad.

A ringing could be heard as she raised the tool to her ear.

Normally she would have used the land-line in the common room, but she didn't want to be sprung by Paris or anyone else for that matter, talking about such sensitive issues.

The phone clicked.

"MOM!" Rory half-shouted, "I need help!"

"Whoa kid!" came the bemused voice of her mother, Lorelai, "slow the heck down – what's the problem? Are you having Gilligan's nightmares again? I told _you_, they _did_ get of that island… somehow".

"No it's got nothing to do with Gilligan or the Skipper or… MOM!" Rory shouted again, "you're throwing me off!"

"Sorry, sorry," Lorelai giggled, "seriously now, what's up?"

"Well I-"

"Wait," Lorelai interrupted, "do you wanna do this in funny voices? You can be Mary Ann and I'll be Ginger!"

Rory was thoroughly not-amused, "as much as I'd _love_ to be Mary Ann, I need your advice more".

"Alright," Lorelai soothed, "this time for reals… no messing about".

"Good," Rory replied, drawing a breath, "now- see," she paused, "I…I… and- well…"

"And how long have you been having zeez zorts frauline?" Lorelai taunted in an intentionally bad German accent.

"Paris is going to go out with a guy that I need to go out with otherwise I'll lose my job at the paper and my whole career will go down the toilet and the guy is hot," Rory shot so quickly it even surprised herself.

Lorelai paused, entirely confused by her daughter's explanation, "wait… Paris is going out with the paper and you're going to lose a guy's job?"

"And the dish ran away with the spoon," Rory joked, "no- Paris is going to go out with a guy-"

"Has he got insurance?" Lorelai interrupted sarcastically.

"He probably has a lot," Rory replied truthfully.

Lorelai giggled, "he's going to need _every_ _cent_ if he intends to get anywhere with Paris".

"But- see- see that's the problem," Rory rejoined, "I don't want her to go out with him because I've- well now that it's out in the open it sounds childish".

"Oh come on Rory," Lorelai pushed, "who am I going to tell your secrets to?"

"It's not that- it's just that I _have_ to go out with this guy and-"

"Hold on- did you just say you were going to _lose your job at the paper_?" Lorelai spluttered.

"No-" Rory replied.

"Oh," Lorelai interjected and sighed in relief, "well that's great".

"-but I was _about_ to," Rory continued.

"I see," Lorelai answered, confused and concerned, "who do I have to speak to; to make sure that doesn't happen".

"Mo-om!" Rory whined, "this isn't _school_… this is University- I can handle myself, I just need your advice".

Lorelai calmed herself, "ok- alright, what do you want to know?"

"I just need a way to convince Paris that I need to take her place on the date she's going on with this guy," Rory explained quickly.

There was a long pause before Lorelai spoke, "kid," she sighed, "I can't _tell_ you what you should do here… you're in a pickle, I can see- well, hear, but you can't go around interfering with other's lives simply because it would suit you to do so".

Rory knew that would be her mother's answer, but she wanted to absolutely convince herself that there was nothing she could do.

"But," Lorelai continued, "and this is a big _but_-"

Rory felt a glimmer of hope.

"Sometimes _you have to make your own opportunities_, if you get what I mean," Lorelai drifted.

Perhaps it was the uncanny connection she had with her mother, but at that moment, Rory concocted a plan that wasn't going to be entirely morally sound – it was devious – but the _good kind_ of devious.

"You know what to do," Lorelai continued, "but I'm off, I've got a dinner with a certain Diner man. Love you, Mary Ann".

"Love you too, Ginger," Rory replied, waiting for the click of her mother's phone before snapping her own shut.

She jumped up and off the bed, sneaking quickly into the common room where a very flustered and domineering Paris was scuttling about.

"Have you seen them, Gilmore?" Paris snapped, tossing pillows from their rightful positions on the couch, "don't make me hurt you".

"Calm down Paris!" Rory eased, "what are you looking for?"

"I'm looking for those dangly green earrings- you know… the ones with the things," Paris replied, mimicking the object of her search with her hands.

"I know the ones," Rory answered chirpily.

"You do?" Paris questioned gleefully, turning around and grabbing Rory, "where are they?"

"Oh I don't _where_ they are," she replied, "I just know _of_ them".

"Gilmore," Paris began, gritting her teeth, "I am a woman on the edge- a woman prepared to commit acts that will surely wind me up in gaol for a very long time".

"Ok, ok!" Rory calmed, "I'll help you look for them".

Paris returned to attention to destroying the common room in hopes of finding her treasured earrings.

Rory walked over to a small jewellery box, sitting comfortably and inconspicuously next to the television, in plain view. She lifted the lid and nodded to herself, spying the pair of green earrings.

"Paris," she began, "I just got off the phone with someone _very interesting_ indeed".

Paris glared at Rory, "less chat more finding, comprende, amiga?"

"No, no," Rory urged, withdrawing the earrings from the jewellery box, "this is a very special someone who is interested in _you_".

Paris turned her attention to Rory, "you've got sixty seconds and counting".

"Well- I- he just said that he's been very fond of you for some time now and- and he wanted me to pass you a message," Rory explained, hiding the earrings behind her back.

"Forty-five, forty-four".

"And…" Rory continued, "he wants to meet up with you _tonight_- he's got everything booked and he wants you to join him and if you don't he doesn't want me to reveal to you, ever, who he is".

Paris stood and appeared to considering Rory's mystery-man's proposition. She wasn't exactly going to win any awards for being a supermodel, mostly because of her height but tonight, she was very well-dressed. She was in fact, a very attractive young woman but it seemed to Rory, that her affliction lay in her _people problems_.

"So basically I can go out with Logan, a safe bet – but a guy I don't even know or for that matter, particularly trust," Paris spoke, voicing her thoughts, "or I can go out with a mystery-man, too spineless to ask me himself…"

Rory did not feel particularly confident.

"Well I guess this one's a no-brainer," Paris sighed, "I'll be joining the spineless one; at least I know I have some sort of 'upper hand', besides, I don't really care for millionaire playboys" she explained and returned to her search for the earrings, "you'll have to go out with Logan for me, in my place- you're more of a stiff, which I'm _sure_ is his type".

Rory was more stunned than she was prepared for, "are you serious- I mean, are you _crazy_?"

"Get a hold of yourself, Gilmore!" Paris scolded, "I've noticed the way you two react to one another".

"And how, exactly, do I react to his shenanigans? 'Cause he's just a childish, millionaire playboy. I have no feelings otherwise," Rory lied.

"Good," Paris rebuked, "then you won't mind going in my place".

Rory did not know whether her plan had worked too well or whether she had just failed dismally but she snapped to when she realized she still had work to do, "I'll be right back".

She ran back into her room, closed the door and grabbed her cell-phone, quickly dialing the number of Paris' mystery-man.

"Hello?" came a tired voice.

"Listen, I know this is going to sound totally craz-"

"Gilmore?" the voice questioned, confusedly.

"Yes Doyle, it's me," Rory replied quickly, "now I've got something to tell you and it's going to sou-"

"Gilmore, I'm a busy man- a busy and _tired_ man. Do you know what that means?" he asked with malice.

"No…" Rory replied timidly.

"It means you get fired if you tick me off," Doyle answered.

Rory could hear the smirk in his voice, "just hear me out," she pleaded.

"You've got sixty seconds and counting," Doyle agreed.

Rory screwed up her face in disbelief, but shook it off and continued, "alright, brace yourself!"

"Fifty-five, fifty-four".

"Alright!" she squealed, "I know someone who's got a major _thing_ for you!"

"Major _thing_?" Doyle asked, almost interested in what she had to say.

"Yes, you know what I mean," she toyed, "listen- I can set you up on a date with her _tonight_, if you act quickly".

"Tonight?" Doyle jumped, "no way- not tonight, I'm no where- I'm not ready for that kind of thing- you can't just spring this on a guy!"

"She won't wait. She told me that if you back down, she will never speak of this again and you'll never know who she is because she swore me to secrecy".

The phone was deadly quiet.

"All you have to do is book reservations at _Madame's_ in Hartford, pick her up from my room and you're off!" Rory continued, trying to convince him.

"And you can't convince her otherwise?" Doyle negotiated.

"She's totally resolved," Rory lied, hearing a slight clatter in the common room.

"What was that?" Doyle asked quickly.

"Nothing! Nothing!" Rory continued, "so what do you say?"

"I say- I say…" Doyle drifted.

"Come on Doyle, you're only getting one shot at this!" Rory pushed.

"Get a hold of yourself, Gilmore!" Doyle shouted. Rory paused. Why did that keep coming up!

"I am calm Doyle, I just need your answer _now_!"

"Ok!" Doyle caved, shouting in the phone, "I'll be there in one hour…"

"Oh that's gr-"

The phone clicked silent.

"-great," Rory finished, tossing the phone onto her bed.

She ran out into the common room flashing the earrings, "I found them!"

Paris lunged at Rory and snatched the earrings, "good job… where were they?"

Rory searched her brain for a lie, "I found them- on the thing…" her voice trailed.

"The what?" Paris snapped, "oh forget it, I don't have time for trivialities!"

"He'll be here in one hour," Rory added, "he's coming to pick you up from here".

"Good," Paris answered, "you're have to meet Logan at _Madame's_ in fifteen minutes! So get goin' sister!"

"Oh!" Rory jumped, running back to her room before pausing, slightly stunned, "where did you say?"

"_Madame's_, Gilmore!" Paris shouted, "in Hartford…"

Rory swallowed. Why do things have a way of working out the way they always seem to?

A/N: Oh noes! Cliff-hanger-esque… no? Ok… just drop me a line and let me know what you think of this one. Cheers all :D


	4. Knight in a shining Mercedes

A/N: Well here's the next part. Hope this one hits par for the crowd! Just let me know in the reviews what you think :)

"How to Lose a Socialite in 10 Days"

IV – Knight in a shining Mercedes

First impressions are everything in the world of a socialite. Rory had made a particularly bad one. Fighting with Logan was not the way she had intended to 'get to know him' – it felt entirely out of character – at least in her opinion. He did challenge her though.

'Just call me _Master and Commander_,' he had said, his voice floating and his smile as charming as though he had just said, 'my pleasure madam' or 'how very nice to be acquainted with you miss'.

That was Logan in a nutshell – or so _her_ impression of him had reported – he was able to make something so cruel seem so very beautiful. Or was it just beautiful in her eyes? Had his impression really had such an effect on her? She could not deny that she found him attractive. His boyish good looks. That wispy blonde hair and remarkably fetching smile – that _trademark smile_ of his. It both irritated her and caused her to melt.

But this was a mission. A mission with a cause. She didn't need to be attached. After all, wasn't that one of the cardinal rules of being a spy? That one did not become _too_ attached to the 'target'.

She shook her head, "Doyle, you have sent me beyond the edge of reason," she mumbled aloud, patting at her cheek with cotton-ball.

Her mind wandered for a moment, considering Paris and Doyle. The fact was, she was quite aware of the tension between the pair, but knew that neither of them would act on their feelings. She felt out of character – dastardly and deceiving. It _was fair_ she contested, trying to convince herself, after all, Doyle had put her in this mess in the first place and Paris – to be fair… Paris was Paris. What mess hadn't she dragged Rory into? Or been the cause of, for that matter.

She felt uneasy. She was entirely against being manipulative but this was serious – her career was at stake. Being fired from the Yale Daily News was going to show up as a red-flag on her resume, to any future employer.

She brushed her fingers along a collection of lipsticks.

First impressions. One never does quite get the chance to make a second one – she felt that the proceedings of the night could possibly allow for one. Logan often smiled at her, didn't he? She paused, staring at her slightly lucid reflection; the mirror was fogged somewhat from her shower. Logan probably looked at _all_ the girls he encountered _that way_. It was probably his method. His way of _picking up_.

"You got what you wanted Gilmore, this is what you wished for… maybe you weren't careful but this is what you got…" she mumbled, still trying to convince herself.

She raised a small, gold, cylindrical lipstick to her mouth and applied a lush coat of red to her lips – it wasn't too inviting or presuming – it was quiet, reflecting her nature but still drawing attention to her mouth; still leaving an element of doubt. She continued with her usual rigmarole, applying various coats of cosmetics richly decorated and stamped with the words _Maybelline_ or _Revlon_.

When she was finished, she stared at her reflection once more, inspecting her work and surveying her 'look' – she was satisfied.

She exited the bathroom and rushed into her bedroom, noticing the time as she passed through the common room. She was going to be late – perhaps even the better part of _very_ late, as she examined open closet of dresses. Her hands danced between each piece of coloured fabric; her eyes scanning quickly and passing judgment in time with her hands.

Eventually, she decided upon a light, sky blue coloured, form-fitting, one-piece dress. It wasn't over the top and wasn't too dressy but still maintained an air of elegance. Hurriedly, she slipped the expensive piece of clothing on; a piece, that she recalled her grandmother had purchased for her and was invariably going to be a '_Marc Jacobs_' but she didn't want to know – she felt it too presumptuous and pompous and thusly, she refused to ever look at the tag. This provided _some_ difficulty in slipping the dress on; for fear that wandering eyes would be the end of the illusion, she had resolved in always clenching her eyelids shut and then bopping and shimming around the room until she could safely open her eyes once more. This was as close as she wanted to be, to ever being blind.

Fortunately, her shoes were an easy find at the floor of her wardrobe; a neat, powder blue pair of heels that complimented her dress very nicely. She slipped the pair on and grabbed her already packed purse and headed for the door, clutching a white shawl she had readily placed on the hat hooks behind their front door. She was ready.

The summer night air was cool but not chilly. She threw the shawl over her shoulders and clip-clopped her way to her car, which was parked conveniently only a short distance away. She was thankful; her running was not a sight to behold. Her running in heels was worse.

The silver Toyota her grandparents had purchased for her blinked to life as she buzzed the key, unlocking the little car.

Upon opening the driver's door, she realized her heels were utterly inappropriate for driving and scowled at the pedals in the car. She unclasped the latch on one shoe, slipped it off and tossed it on the passenger's seat; following in the same process with the other shoe.

She felt slightly panicky as she noticed the dim blue light of the clock on her dashboard – she was late.

With the driving experience she did have, Rory was most often a thoroughly well-aware driver; very careful and law-abiding. Tonight, she felt, was perhaps one of those occasions where one was allowed to break a few rules. She sped the little Toyota through the streets of Hartford, sneering at any opposing driver for not having the courtesy of allowing her to zip through and overtake, wherever was necessary.

When she was but seconds from the restaurant – which was now clearly in sight - she prayed somewhat, for a glimpse of Logan, just to be sure he was still there but all that became apparent was the infamous red and blue flashing lights in her rear view mirror.

Her eyes bulged and her head spun.

Without any thought of continuing onward, she slowed and gently eased the car off to the side of the road, where a white police car followed suit.

Rory dropped her head onto the steering wheel.

"This cannot get _any_ worse," she mumbled, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, alerted by a tapping at her window, she was sure things were indeed about to get much worse.

Calm, she thought, just don't react all crazily. She didn't want to end up on 'America's Wackiest Criminals'.

She rolled her window down and was met by a young, very trim and neat, yet rather domineering male police officer, "I'm sorry!" she spluttered, "I just- I never break the law… I was really late and had to get here and now- I'm- look I'm _really_ sorry".

A small crowd at _Madame's_ Restaurant, whom were either entering or exiting the building, began pointing and whispering, in Rory's general direction.

"May I have your license and registration please ma'am?" the young officer asked, holding out his palm and flashing a torch in Rory's eyes.

She squinted at the small crowd forming around the restaurant and then began fiddling with her purse. She fished her dainty fingers in amongst the rabble of quickly packed items, hunting for the details the officer had requested.

"You don't _have_ any license and or registration for this vehicle, do you ma'am?" the officer pushed, sternly but in some strange way, comforting.

"No, no," Rory answered abruptly, "it's in here somewhere," she added, pulling out carefully selected pieces of her make-up collection and tossing them onto the passenger's seat.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car," the officer requested quietly.

"No, it's quite alright," Rory replied, emptying the remaining contents of her purse onto her lap.

Her license was not among the items. She looked up and smiled weakly at the police officer.

"Ma'am, out of the car, please," he persisted, nodding slightly.

Rory sighed and bit her lip, resolved to not crying. She pulled the door handle and swung the driver's door open as the officer stepped back. She stepped out onto the road and immediately realized she was barefoot – not that it mattered now.

"If you could please remove any lethal items you're carrying now, that would be much appreciated ma'am," the officer instructed.

Rory half-glared at the man, spreading her palms and shrugging, "I'm not sure where I'd be hiding any _lethal weapons_".

"You're hiding lethal weapons, ma'am?" the officer inquired, raising an eyebrow and jotting down some notes in a small black book.

"Look, please, just listen to me," Rory pleaded, "I never leave home without my license; I never break the law… I- I just made a really mistake tonight".

"_Mistakes_," the officer corrected, maintaining his concentration on the notepad.

Rory sighed and glanced toward the building crowd outside _Madame's_. Logan was not among the whispering mass.

"Now just put your hands behind your back please ma'am, if you choose to struggle, you will be apprehended with force," the officer explained, approaching Rory with a silver pair of handcuffs.

"Wait!" Rory squealed, "what am I being charged with?"

"Ma'am you're being charged with unlawful driving, reckless driving and spee-"

"Hank- Hank Bell?" a voice cracked from behind Rory.

The officer peered beyond Rory and broke into a smile, "well _I'll be_!" he said, shaking his head, "that couldn't be little Logan Huntzberger, could it?"

"Geez Hank," Logan spoke, hands in his pockets, "it's been too long".

"Yeah, I haven't arrested you in- gosh… three or four months! The holding cell at the station just hasn't been the same," officer 'Hank' replied, smiling happily.

"Is Gretel still there?" Logan asked, his trademark smile plastered on his face.

"Oh she's workin' reception these days, but she has her times down at the cells," the officer replied, extending his hand to Logan.

Logan reciprocated and shook Hank's hand; the pair mumbled to one another for a moment and then burst into fits of laughter.

Rory was entirely bemused, "_hello_," she blinked, "I'm being arrested here, can we cut to the chase?"

The officer looked up at Rory, wiping a tear from his eye, "yeah where was I?"

"Oh, I don't know if you should arrest Ace here, Hank, she's good folk. Besides, she wouldn't do too well with _Bruiser_… you know… she's pretty, she mightn't last _the night_," Logan interjected, smiling and winking at Rory.

The officer seemed to be considering Logan's point, "the law is the law, you know," he began, nodding to Logan and scratching his thigh. Rory's heart sank, "but I suppose I can make just one little concession for you Logan ol' boy. Besides, I reckon we'll probably be seein' you 'round the station sometime soon," he finished, laughing and slapping Logan on the back.

"Only if _you're_ the man arresting me Hank," Logan replied tapping Hank's chest and smirking .

"You better believe it!" he cried, laughing again, "alright ma'am," he said, turning to Rory, "your friend here must think pretty darn highly of you".

Logan nodded to Rory and smiled again.

"I suggest you drive more carefully in the future ma'am, and that you should use a better moisturizer… the stuff that came out of your handbag is just not good enough to keep your complexion in balance, I use _Olay Complete_ and I've never gone back," Hank said, running his fingers across his chin, "you two take care!" he called and entered his car, pulled out onto the road and honked twice as he drove by.

Rory stood wide-eyed, unable to speak.

"Oh come on Ace," Logan said, walking over to her, "you can thank me anytime now".

"I- he… you," Rory stammered.

"Hey, have you seen Paris?" Logan interrupted, pulling out his cell phone to check for missed calls.

Rory snapped back to reality, "she couldn't come – I came in her place".

Logan looked up at Rory with an eyebrow raised, "you and I are going out on a date?"

Rory snapped somewhat further back to reality, "I just got cosmetic advice from a police officer _who let me off the hook_," she spluttered.

"Yeah…" Logan replied dreamily, "so when do we eat?"

She looked at him, "I can't believe you just did that?"

"Did what?" Logan asked defensively, "hey if a guy wants to eat, he's got to make himself heard now and then".

"No!" Rory scowled, "you saved me – you- you, why!" she threw her arms up in the air, "why did you do that?"

"Just bailing a friend out," Logan shrugged, smiling at her in his trademark way, "come on Ace, you'd have done the same".

She glanced toward the crowd who were now, all pointing and whispering excitedly and confusedly.

"Okay… let's go on our date," she caved, confused too much to properly think straight about what had just happened.

"Not like that you aren't," Logan nodded to her before walking away and raising his phone to his ear.

"_What do you mean_?" Rory jumped, frowning at him.

Logan covered up the phone, "you're generally required to be dressed when you go into these places," he replied, grinning happily at her before resuming is conversation on his phone.

Rory looked down at her feet and rolled her eyes. She turned back to the car and reached inside for her shoes.

"Alright," Logan spoke, "that's settled".

"What's settled?" she called, her voice slightly muffled in the car.

"Well we can't go here," Logan thumbed toward _Madame's_.

Rory poked her head out of the car and focused on the crowd, "oh".

"Don't worry, I've pulled some strings," he consoled her, "just gather your gear and let's get going".

Rory looked up at him from the driver's seat and paused. He leaned on the frame of the door and smiled down at her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

A/N: Don't worry, the date hasn't even _begun_ to get awkward! Stay tuned folks for the next installment… ok… I won't ever be that clichéd/cheesy again… alright you know I will :P


	5. McDonald’s Wars Episode V: Spartacus Str

A/N: Holy cow, I updated :D Seriously, I start these things, they have so much potential (right?… riiight?) and then I disappear under a swamp of 'real life'. Well, enough excuses, at least it's moving along! So, here's the next (albeit extremely belated) part of…

"How to Lose a Socialite in 10 Days"

V – McDonald's Wars Episode V: Spartacus Strikes Back!

"And that's why we need a woman President…"

"You realise that I'm going to agree, mostly because _I'm a woman_ and secondly- wait… WAIT- I'm going to _disagree_, because it's you that's making the argument, Logan Huntzberger".

"Although you have a more than valid point, deep down you just _hate it_ when I'm right".

She paused. That wasn't the case at all. To be totally and utterly truthful, she-

"I hate you because you represent… ev- everything that's wrong with our- world," she spluttered, quickly attempting to stifle her true feelings. Feelings she had resolved herself to fight against.

"_Ouch_," he replied coyly, "where did that come from?"

"Just- can we get just get on with this and get it over with and then- and then we can all go back to our corners and the world will be right again?"

Logan smiled wryly and leant back in his chair, "not enjoying yourself _Ace_?"

She cringed slightly. His charm was dominating. He had coined a nickname she didn't even like, but that somehow made her feel special.

"I mean, we can just go home and-"

"No," she interjected, remembering the article, "no… let's… no… we can have a nice, platonic meal together-"

"Rory, we're in _McDonalds_".

The startling commercial reality flurried about her. Children, parents, _Happy Meals_, "again, I remind you that _you_ brought us here-"

"I said I'd 'pulled some strings', I didn't say how _big_ they were…" he trailed, smiling and munching contently on a cheeseburger, "Finn's sister-in-law's cousin works here. Like I said in the car, on the way over, 'ever had the urge to eat _unlimited hamburgers at a quality price_?'"

Rory glared, "you're a sad product of commercialism, incarnate…"

"Excuse me," he chimed, "a _Happy_ product, thank you very much… I didn't order this _Cheeseburger Happy Meal_ for the toy, you know?"

For the first time in the whole night, she giggled. Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of the situation – two University students, wealthy and thoroughly well-dressed, sitting there, amidst a crowd of hyper-active children, exhausted adults and plastic cut-outs of the McDonald's mascots – or maybe it was a slip-up. She'd finally let her guard down.

"Holy Hamburger, Batman, _it's alive_!"

Rory playfully tossed a chip at him, which he cleverly dodged. The chip floated, almost suspended in slow motion, for a moment, through the air before it collected a child running by, _smack_ in the jaw. He paused, bent over and examined the fry.

Logan turned around and smiled at the boy, "sorry about that s-"

"FOOD FIGHT!" the young lad screamed.

Within seconds, every able-bodied child took up arms; fists of hamburger, magazines of French fries, discarded pickles… anything that was immediately within reach of the small-palmed youngsters.

"NOOO!" an acne-faced teenager screamed, "I just became manager of this place! You kids drop your weapo-"

But his words were drowned out in the jungle hooting and war-cries from the children whom erupted from their seats and parent's grasps, each tossing and running around the restaurant.

"_Freedom_!" one, seemingly Scottish, child called, before raising a plastic spork in triumph.

A wave of toddlers advanced on pre-teens at strategically located points around the restaurant – the booths were the first to fall. Patrons were pelted with a barrage of chicken nuggets sauces of several varieties. One couple were bashed with soft-serve sundaes and raised their arms in terror.

"Take nay prisoners!" the Scottish child yelled and the couple were drenched in a sticky concoction of _Fanta_ and _Coke_.

"These kids have amazing aim!" Logan yelled above the ruckus.

"YES!" Rory squealed, dodging a _Coke_ drenched wad of napkins.

"I mean, this has been well orchestrated-" but Logan's sentence was cut short as a solitary, slimy, ketchup-covered chip brushed his cheek.

Rory sat, open-mouthed as his dabbed at his cheek.

"I've- I've been _hit_," he muttered softly before grabbing the remainder of his burger and raising it threateningly, "you kids are gonna get it _now_!"

Rory grabbed his arm and pulled him beneath the table, just as a mass wave of chips and sauce containers flew in every direction over their table.

"Why did you do that?" Logan shouted, laughing with the burger in his hand, "I had one lined up _good_".

"I was saving yourself from an almost certain night with '_the boys_' downtown," she explained.

"Good _God_," Logan exclaimed, looking around the restaurant from under the table, "I haven't seen carnage like this since the first twenty minutes of Saving Private Ryan!"

"I thought you weren't a religious man," Rory called back, clutching a dinner table leg.

"I am _now_!" he replied, smiling.

The pair sat under the table, smiling at one another and half-avoiding the payload of fast food that was being exchanged around the room.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Logan whispered quietly.

Rory bit her lip and blushed.

"That's what I thought," he continued to whisper soothingly, and leant closer to her.

She brushed a rogue strand of hair from her face and blushed a shade of crimson that would have made Harvard proud.

Logan smiled his trademark smile.

She leant in closer… closer… until she could feel his breathing on her cheek. At which point he opened his mouth, just slightly-

She closed her eyes.

Without skipping a beat he raised the remainder of the burger between them and bit down on one end.

She opened her eyes to a face full of cheeseburger, close enough that she recoiled in shock and drew breath suddenly.

"What?" he asked with a mouthful of the burger, "I've got your bit here".

Her eyebrows lowered and she blushed ever more, if it were possible, "I'm fine thanks".

"Oh come on!" he mumbled, "I'm not going out with Paris Hilton or some other stick-of-a-girl, take a bite!"

Rory considered his order and thought it best to take the _compliment_ that was in there… somewhere, "thank you," she sighed, feeling a piece of McDonald's shrapnel strike her in the back.

Logan surveyed the battle and spied the Scottish child being apprehended by McDonald's staff. The boy kicked and screamed, demanding his army fight on without him – and they did, but only until their ammunition was depleted.

The battle was over. Children scampered for cover and hiding places, but it was too late, parents, covered all sorts of messes hurried to arrest their children.

"WHO STARTED THIS?" the Manager screamed, covered, head-to-toe in filth, "I want a name – someone, to come forward and PAY FOR ALL OF THIS!"

Rory looked down at the ground.

"COME ON, FESS UP!" the Manager continued to rage.

Rory felt guilty to the pit of her stomach. She remained studying the ground as her hand was grasped by a warm and reassuring grip. She looked up and noticed that the hand belonged to Logan, whom was not looking at her, but the Manager – she could feel something in the gesture… something-

"YOU!" the Manager screamed again, pointing, "the boy with the accent!"

"Ye'll get nowt outta me," the Scottish boy stated steadfastly as he stood, gripped by McDonald's staff on each side.

"Who are you boy?" the Manager asked calmly, eyeing the rubbish covered child.

"I," the boy paused, "am SPARTACUS!".

"NO!" a young girl rose to feet, her hair, a combination of mustard and ketchup, "I am Spartacus!"

"I am Spartacus!" another boy called from the back, held firmly by his parents.

"I am Spartacus! I am Spartacus! I am Spartacus!" the claim floated around the room from child to child.

The Manager and his staff stood stunned – stunned and completely confused.

Logan and Rory could no longer contain their amusement at the scene, both jumped up from under the table and claimed proudly in unison, "I am Spartacus!" before falling onto their chairs in a fit of laughter.

Even the parents of some of the most guilty children chimed in with the 'Spartacus' claim.

"Oh you're all SICK!" the Manager bellowed, "just- just get the hell out of my store and FAST!"

No on needed to be told they'd been let off the hook twice, and quickly, the restaurant emptied, save for the staff.

Rory and Logan made their way, somewhat dirtied by the events, to Logan's car, still laughing cheering for 'Spartacus'. It was only when they arrived at the vehicle that the pair realized they were still in each other's grasp.

"I- well…" Rory quickly dropped Logan's hand, "I had a splend- an o.k. time with you, Logan Huntzberger…_Spartacus_".

"I'm glad you did Ace," he paused, leaning on the bonnet his shimmering Mercedes, "I can't remember the last time I went from discussing global politics to throwing burgers at small children _in under five minutes_…"

"Oh!" she giggled, leaning on the car, next to him, "so it's usually… ten or fifteen?"

"Yeah… we definitely set a record tonight," he smirked.

They paused for a moment, gazing, in an attempt to be nonchalant, at the crowds of dirty families, piling into people movers and cars in the car-park.

"I guess that's that, then, huh?" Logan asked, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?"

"I guess we just go back to our corners now, right? That's what you _want_, isn't it?" he pushed, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

"I- I- what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say what you want to," he stated truthfully, "I'm not one for the whole- you know, lieing thing?"

"Oh," she replied sheepishly, "yeah that- that's not the- yeah, me either!"

He cocked his head slightly and smiled at her, "something you're not telling me, Ace?"

She refused his gaze and brushed her dress off, "of course not, if I keep things from you, it's because they are things you shouldn't know – not lies…"

"I don't really see the difference…" he trailed.

She couldn't tell him. Why did she feel she needed to? He wasn't anything to her. Just a fool that needed to be cut off his perch anyway. She didn't need to justify anything to him.

"Rory?" he whispered quietly.

She turned her head to face him and sighed somewhat, but before she could even get a single thought in order, he had brushed a hand across her cheek and pressed his lips against hers. She was startled for a moment, completely caught off guard but she didn't fight him, not one bit…

A/N: So yeah, that's the end of Chapter V. I SWEAR I'll have Chapter VI up, like, within the next day or so. I really like this story… it's clichéd I know, but I'm having fun writing it. That's what counts right? No? O.K. Just let me know what you think of this one!


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